have suffered all kinds of damage: toppled light posts, destroyed bus stops, damaged cars and buildings, even a stop sign with an arrow sticking out of it. I also notice a greater police presence, which becomes more noticeable the farther we run along Cassie’s trail. I don’t know what sort of wild ride Cassie and her queens took in the swamp buggy but it obviously drew plenty of attention.
The driver of a nearby car suddenly spots us and swerves out of the way, nearly causing an accident. A police car patrolling the area turns on its siren and rushes in our direction. The cops will never be able to catch us but things begin getting tricky when a second police car turns a corner ahead of us. Dealing with police is not a problem John wants to face.
“We need to get off these roads,” he yells, the sound of his voice nearly drowned out since we run too fast. “Cops are everywhere; we need to figure out where we’re going next.”
On one side of the main road is a large fence with a huge field just beyond, a long runway disappearing into the distance; on the other side is a row of old industrial buildings. I pick out a building that looks abandoned and the three of us easily leap a ten-foot fence. Within seconds, we smash through some broken windows and land in an abandoned warehouse. It’s dark and dusty inside; I doubt anyone’s been here for years. The police sirens soon disappear into the distance.
“The cops never would’ve caught us,” I say. I’m not winded in the least, even though we’ve run several miles in a few minutes. “They weren’t far behind but didn’t even see us jump the fence or come in here.”
We’re not far from the path the queens took but I can also tell the trail is cooling. The familiar tingling sensation still tickles the back of my mind but I sense it’s more of a warning of danger.
“You feel it too, Mentor?” Amelia asks.
I nod. John already heads over to the grime-encrusted windows, wiping away enough gunk so we can see outside.
“Over there,” John says.
He points toward the large fence across the road. I’d given it little thought during our run but realize an airport lay just beyond. Several large maintenance crews tend to a massive hole in the fence; it’s not hard to imagine an oversized swamp vehicle smashing through it. But the maintenance crews aren’t the only ones just inside the airport’s fence. Dozens of police cars and FBI vans litter the airport grounds and even more news vans are parked along the sides of the road, many from big-time TV stations.
“Something is seriously wrong,” John says.
“And I’ll give you one guess who caused the trouble.”
Even more police cars begin to swarm this area and a few pull into parking lots of nearby buildings. I realize it was a mistake to risk being spotted but I didn’t expect such heightened levels of security.
“It’s not safe to stay here,” I say.
John points to another gathering of vehicles just down the road.
“There,” he says. “Let’s go find out what happened.”
CHAPTER SIX
The small diner is old and rundown, most of the words in its neon sign having probably blown out years ago. It may have been in a good location when the surrounding buildings and warehouses were newer and occupied but I doubt that’s been the case for a long time. Still, considering the number of cars and TV vans parked outside, you’d think this was the most happening restaurant in town.
Our clothes aren’t exactly in the best shape to be out in public unless blood and arrow holes have suddenly become fashionable. But we all wear black, which covers up most of the bloody stains, and the tank tops Amelia and I have on underneath aren’t in bad shape. We store our bows and bloody clothing behind some old boxes on the side of the diner before heading in.
The interior is just as rundown as outside. Wobbly tables, mismatched chairs and faded wallpaper make this place cry out to be chosen for one of those
The driver of a nearby car suddenly spots us and swerves out of the way, nearly causing an accident. A police car patrolling the area turns on its siren and rushes in our direction. The cops will never be able to catch us but things begin getting tricky when a second police car turns a corner ahead of us. Dealing with police is not a problem John wants to face.
“We need to get off these roads,” he yells, the sound of his voice nearly drowned out since we run too fast. “Cops are everywhere; we need to figure out where we’re going next.”
On one side of the main road is a large fence with a huge field just beyond, a long runway disappearing into the distance; on the other side is a row of old industrial buildings. I pick out a building that looks abandoned and the three of us easily leap a ten-foot fence. Within seconds, we smash through some broken windows and land in an abandoned warehouse. It’s dark and dusty inside; I doubt anyone’s been here for years. The police sirens soon disappear into the distance.
“The cops never would’ve caught us,” I say. I’m not winded in the least, even though we’ve run several miles in a few minutes. “They weren’t far behind but didn’t even see us jump the fence or come in here.”
We’re not far from the path the queens took but I can also tell the trail is cooling. The familiar tingling sensation still tickles the back of my mind but I sense it’s more of a warning of danger.
“You feel it too, Mentor?” Amelia asks.
I nod. John already heads over to the grime-encrusted windows, wiping away enough gunk so we can see outside.
“Over there,” John says.
He points toward the large fence across the road. I’d given it little thought during our run but realize an airport lay just beyond. Several large maintenance crews tend to a massive hole in the fence; it’s not hard to imagine an oversized swamp vehicle smashing through it. But the maintenance crews aren’t the only ones just inside the airport’s fence. Dozens of police cars and FBI vans litter the airport grounds and even more news vans are parked along the sides of the road, many from big-time TV stations.
“Something is seriously wrong,” John says.
“And I’ll give you one guess who caused the trouble.”
Even more police cars begin to swarm this area and a few pull into parking lots of nearby buildings. I realize it was a mistake to risk being spotted but I didn’t expect such heightened levels of security.
“It’s not safe to stay here,” I say.
John points to another gathering of vehicles just down the road.
“There,” he says. “Let’s go find out what happened.”
CHAPTER SIX
The small diner is old and rundown, most of the words in its neon sign having probably blown out years ago. It may have been in a good location when the surrounding buildings and warehouses were newer and occupied but I doubt that’s been the case for a long time. Still, considering the number of cars and TV vans parked outside, you’d think this was the most happening restaurant in town.
Our clothes aren’t exactly in the best shape to be out in public unless blood and arrow holes have suddenly become fashionable. But we all wear black, which covers up most of the bloody stains, and the tank tops Amelia and I have on underneath aren’t in bad shape. We store our bows and bloody clothing behind some old boxes on the side of the diner before heading in.
The interior is just as rundown as outside. Wobbly tables, mismatched chairs and faded wallpaper make this place cry out to be chosen for one of those
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